


The Road Not Taken

by Kirito_Potter



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, F/M, First Kiss, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, School Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirito_Potter/pseuds/Kirito_Potter
Summary: The Dance of the Equinox. It sounds like something out of the Nutcracker, but in reality it's nothing more than another school-sanctioned dance guaranteed to make both students and teachers embarrassed and awkward. Every March, the Mage forces seventh and eighth years into ridiculous clothes and makes them dance with a foot of space between them and hands above the waist. And now I'm a seventh year, which means I'll be expected to do the same. Naturally, I'm thrilled.





	The Road Not Taken

**Baz**

The Dance of the Equinox. It sounds like something out of the Nutcracker, but in reality it's nothing more than another school-sanctioned dance guaranteed to make both students and teachers embarrassed and awkward. Every March, the Mage forces seventh and eighth years into ridiculous clothes and makes them dance with a foot of space between them and hands above the waist. And now I'm a seventh year, which means I'll be expected to do the same. Naturally, I'm thrilled. (When I told Snow as much, I had to explain I was being sarcastic.)

The solution is simple, of course: go without a date and skulk around like a lovestruck moron.

Snow, on the other hand, is surely set for success. He's got stupid, pretty, rich, female Wellbelove. He'll be dancing the night away while I scowl at him from the shadows. Typical.

“What do you mean, set for success?” He asks Monday night, oblivious.

I don't turn away from my English assignment (Robert Frost) to answer. “I mean you've got a girlfriend,” I spit, hoping the venom will slide right out of my fangs and into the tone of my voice. “A lot of blokes at this school would kill to be in your position, not having to build up the courage to ask someone to the dance.” Not that I have to worry about that.

He laughs. “What, is Baz Pitch scared of rejection?”

Yes. Merlin, yes.

“I mean, you've probably got hordes of girls in line to ask you.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, that's just lovely, isn't it?” I reach for my cuppa and try to drown myself. (At least Earl Grey is quite soothing.)

He pauses. “Well… yeah. It is lovely. Why do you sound so angry? You can have pretty much any girl.”

“I'm not going to ask any of them,” I admit.

He blusters to the back of my chair for a moment. “You-- but-- really? Wh-- what about-- uh--”

“I don't _want_ to ask any of them,” I correct.

“But-- Baz! It's no fun without a date!”

“That's not true,” I counter. “Plenty of people go with a friend. No dates necessary.”

He seems stumped. “I just don't see why you want to go without a date.” He hums a little, thinking. “Oh, wait. It's because I'm going with Agatha, isn't it?”

I stiffen.

“I mean, you can't ask her if I'm already going with her.”

I fight the urge to slam my head into the middle of my textbook. As idiotic as always.

“Not that I am going with her, necessarily.”

I actually turn in my chair. “Excuse me?”

He shifts on the edge of his bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I mean… Agatha's been kind of…” he shrugs, as he always does. “Distant?”

“Distant,” I echo.

“Yeah. I'm not sure she wants to go to the dance with me. I'm a little scared to ask.”

I try not to show my delight.

“I’m confused by it all,” he mumbles. “I mean, Aggie and me are…”

“You’re what?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

I take another sip of tea. “Maybe you’re not something. Maybe you’re nothing.”

He huffs, and it blows his hair up out of his eyes. “No. Agatha and me--”

“Agatha and I,” I correct. It’s a wonder he’s able to cast a single spell when he doesn’t even know basic grammar.

“Agatha and me are, like, destiny. You know?” He looks desperate, like he’s trying to convince himself more than me.

“I don’t know if I believe in destiny,” I say, but it’s not true. I’d like to think that I don’t believe in destiny, but I know it exists because it always seems to work against me.

“Well, we’re meant to be together.” He purses his lips. “I mean, that makes sense. She makes sense. We make sense.” They do, and it infuriates me. “But… maybe she doesn’t think so.”

I nod encouragingly. “Maybe. Maybe she’d be happier with someone else. Someone who isn’t a self-proclaimed terrible boyfriend.”

I’m an awful person. I already knew that, of course, but here I am, getting excited that Snow might break up with his girlfriend. His girlfriend who makes him happy. His girlfriend who makes him feel like things make sense. Do I want my crush to be available, or do I want him to be happy?

“Maybe you and me will both end up going solo,” he laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I turn away from him again. I can’t look at him anymore. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see, I suppose.”

I refuse to turn to him again, but I can hear his pulse speed up. “I could just not ask her. She’s my girlfriend. That’s, like, an auto-invite. Right?”

I don’t know what to say.

“Unless she’s expecting me to make sure. I should make sure.”

I stay silent.

“I should.”

I find my place in my textbook again and reach for my pen.

“Shouldn’t I?”

I don’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

I spend the rest of the week overthinking what Snow said, like I do everything. As if Wellbelove would really turn him down. As if I’d ever have a chance with him. I can’t sleep for several nights, staring at my ceiling, imagining Snow in a pressed suit with slicked-back hair, dancing with me like he doesn’t hate me. But he does, and Wellbelove will say yes, and even if she didn’t he’d never go with me. Because I’m not worthy of love. And because Snow is. He’s so, so worthy of love, and I will give all of mine to him, even if he’ll never give it back.

 

~

 

Saturday afternoon arrives, and Snow steps into the room, looking a bit confused. I turn to face him. He glances to me, then away, then back to me.

“What is it, you git?” I growl. I have no patience for him lately.

He shrugs weakly. “I… um…”

I roll my eyes. “It’s no wonder Wellbelove’s been ‘distant’, when you can’t even spit out a sentence.”

His face crumples.

 

**Simon**

There’s no way he already knows, right? That he stalked me down to the fork in the road in front of the drawbridge and watched me ask Agatha? That he heard her confirm what I’d been worried about?

“Maybe you’re right,” I grunt, flopping onto my bed. “Because you’re always right, you smartarse.” I can feel my magic starting to leak out of my fingertips. “I thought I had a shot, you know?”

Baz shifts in his seat, and I hear him take a sip from his cup. Smells flowery today. Green tea, maybe? “A shot at what? I’m not a mind reader, Snow.”

So he really doesn’t know. I grit my teeth, trying to get a grip on my magic. I get it to stop leaking, but my eyes pick up where it left off. Embarrassed, I cover my face with an arm.

“Crying now, Snow?”

“Yes,” I choke out, my throat tight. “Agatha broke up with me.”

 

**Baz**

Am I glad?

“So I guess… you're in a perfect position to snatch her away.” He snuffles into his sleeve.

“Don't be ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head. My heart is pounding. “As if I'd ask Wellbelove.”

He lifts his arm and blinks at me owlishly, and it’s even easier to see how wet his eyes are. “What?”

“I said I'm not asking her. Didn't I tell you a few days ago that I don't want to ask any of the girls?”

“What?” He asks again. “But-- I thought she was the reason.” He sniffles, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “That she was, like, the one girl for you or something.”

I sigh. “Look, Snow, I've told you a million times now. I don't care about Wellbelove. And I don't care about any of the girls at this school.”

He scrunches up his face. “What, not posh enough for you?”

“It's not like that,” I snarl. “I'm sick and tired of you trying to force all this on me. The girls, and the dating, and the dancing.”

He sits up, looking indignant. “I'm not forcing anything on you, Baz! I just think you could have fun for once with a nice girl!”

“I'm gay.”

I raise my tea to my mouth, as if I haven't just said something earth shattering. I peer at him over the lip of the cup, watching him process this information. His expression shifts several times, but it's hard to pin down what each is supposed to be. I wait for him to say I'm lying as part of a plot, or that I'm disgusting, or disturbed, or perverted. I wait for him to say we can't be roommates anymore.

“How about you go to the dance with me, then?”

I choke on my tea, nearly spitting it out. “What?!”

“Well, if you're not going to ask a girl and Agatha doesn't wanna go with me, we might as well go together.”

I gape. “How is that in any way logical?”

He frowns, hiccuping a little. “Um… I dunno. It made sense in my head. I mean, Dev's your cousin, and-- well, maybe you fancy Niall, but he seems like more of a lackey than a… what? Boyfriend? And you really don't know that many other blokes very well.”

I'm stunned into silence. (There's a first for everything.) After a moment, I manage to shake myself into reality. “Do you even like blokes?”

He wipes at his eyes again. “I dunno,” he offers. “I've never really thought about it.”

“Of course you haven't,” I groan. “What, so I'm some sort of sick experiment?”

His eyes widen even more. “What? No! No, I-- it doesn't have to be, like, a date thing! Necessarily! You said people go with friends, right?”

“Are you saying we're friends?” I accuse.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Well… not really, no. But--”

“Merlin, Snow. You don't even know what you want. If this was about going with friends, you wouldn't have asked me because I already have friends.”

“Minions,” he cuts in.

“But,” I continue, brows furrowed, “if it was about me telling you I’m gay, you wouldn't have asked me because you don't like blokes.”

“Wait--”

“What do you want from me, Snow? Is this a friendly outing or a date?”

He swallows hard, and I watch his Adam's apple. “I… um…”

 

**Simon**

Do I have to choose?

 

**Baz**

I raise an eyebrow. “But it's neither, isn't it? It's just your impulsivity manifesting itself in the strangest way yet. Don't patronise me.”

He slumps, and his eyebrows pull up a bit. He lies back down and buries his head in his pillow with a groan.

I force myself to drink my tea and turn back to my homework.

Merlin, Morgana and Methuselah. Why did I tell him?

 

~

 

**Simon**

Is this how Baz feels? Cast off to the side? Sure, Penny is here, looking gorgeous in her purple pantsuit (“I thought you liked wearing dresses.” “It’s the principle!”) and having spelled the frames of her glasses to sparkle. But Agatha isn’t anywhere to be seen. She’s probably here, dancing with some better guy, but I haven’t gotten a glimpse of her. Somehow, that might be better-- I don’t think I could stand it if I had to watch her from the sidelines.

Penny nudges me with her shoulder, smiling carefully. “Simon. You’re making that face again.”

I try to smile back. “Sorry. I’m a little distracted.”

She sighs. “Si, it’s been a week. Can’t you just try to enjoy a school dance?” She laughs a little. “Actually, I don’t know if anyone is really enjoying this. But can’t you be an awkward teenager like the rest of us?”

I shrug. “What are awkward teenagers supposed to do?”

She smirks. “I heard Gareth spiked the punch.”

“Spiked? With what?”

“I guess we should go find out,” she grins, grabbing my wrist. I let her pull me towards the punch bowl.

“Simon.”

I turn, startled. “Sir!”

The Mage looks down at me. He’s still dressed in his green cloak, even though he insisted on the students all following a strict dress code. “Is everything alright, my boy?”

I hesitate. “I mean…”

“Where’s that girl?” He asks, looking over my shoulder. He looks past Penny-- no, not past, through, like she’s not even there. Like she's cast a **Now You See Me**. “Where’s Miss Wellbelove? Were you getting her a drink, perhaps?”

I swallow, and I feel Penny’s grip on my wrist tighten. “Um… I don’t know where she is.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I… she’s not my date for the dance.”

He finally focuses on Penny, a shadow falling over his expression as he dips his head to get a better look. “Bunce, is it? I wasn’t under the impression that you and Simon were… romantically involved.”

“We’re not,” she glares, glasses flashing dangerously. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Then I don’t understand,” he huffs. He looks to me. “What is going on here?”

I bite my lip. “Penny and I are here as-- as friends. People do that.”

He looks disappointed. “You are the Mage’s Heir, Simon. You have to keep up appearances. What will people think when you can’t even find a date to a school dance?”

I fight tears. Why am I crying? “I just-- it’s not my fault, sir.” I frown. “I mean… she broke up with me, so maybe it was my fault for not being good enough. But…” I’m not sure what my point was.

Penny steps towards him. “It’s not his job to have a girlfriend. Let him relax for one night, will you?”

He looks somewhat offended. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone talk to the Mage that way. Not to his face. He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue with her, then spins on the heel of his boot and walks off.

I stand there for a moment, shaken, then look to Penny. “That was a serious power move.”

She laughs. “He deserved it.”

I frown but don’t argue.

She pulls me towards the punch again, and this time no one stops us. There is a significant crowd of students gathered around the bowl, though.

Penny smiles at me. “I’ll get you a drink. Stay here.” She lets go of my arm and starts to push past the others towards the punch, and I wait, not sure what to do with my hands.

I see someone at the other end of the table. He's wearing a dark grey suit. In fact, everything about him is grey. Grey skin, grey eyes. The only source of contrast is his thick black hair. He doesn’t have a glass in hand, but he’s eyeing the punch like he’s considering it. Then he looks up and meets my eyes.

 

**Baz**

    Great Snakes. Snow looks incredible. He’s wearing a pressed baby blue suit, and it makes his eyes shine. His hair is slicked back sloppily enough that a few curls right at the front have popped out, and they bounce when he moves his head. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, but better. And he’s only a few feet away.

I realise belatedly that he’s looking at me, too, which means he knows I’m staring. I drag my eyes away and pretend I haven’t recognised him.

It doesn’t work, obviously, and he starts around the crowd toward me. I don’t walk away.

“Baz,” he breathes, and I would do anything to hear him say my name like that again.

“Snow,” I say, but there’s no malice behind it. I can’t bring myself to hate him when he looks like this.

He smiles weakly. “Did you… uh… ever ask someone? Niall, maybe?”

I shake my head and speak a bit more quietly. “Just because I came out to you doesn’t mean I’m ready to come out to the whole damn school.”

He nods. “That’s your choice.” He thinks for a moment. “Although. I guess that means you trust me, huh?”

I swallow. “I guess.” I would trust you with my life, Simon Snow.

He chuckles. “Well, my prediction was right, then. Neither of us ended up with a date.”

“It seems that way.”

We stand there for a moment, and I don’t know what to say.

He shifts his weight, rubbing his arm. “I… uh…”

I don’t tease him for his stammering.

“Baz, do you remember… when I asked you to come with me?”

Of course. “Yes.”

“You… you asked me if I was asking you as a friend or as a date. I never answered.”

My heart skips a beat. “I don’t really care. You’d just been dumped, and you were being irrational. You didn’t mean it.”

He frowns, mussing his hair a bit-- then remembers it’s slicked back and pouts at his gel-covered hand. “But…”

I shake my head. “It’s okay, Snow. We can forget about it and have one night without bickering and fighting and hating. And we can do that without dates. So just…” I sigh. “Enjoy your night.”

He works his jaw, and I stare for a second.

A band starts playing in the corner, and whatever Snow was going to say dissipates.

The Mage speaks, voice amplified by magic. “It's time for you all to find someone to dance with. Even if you don't have dates.”

An awkward chuckle spreads across the crowd, and I swear the Mage is glaring right at Snow.

Snow gives me an apologetic smile and glances over his shoulder. Bunce is already coming this way.

“See you,” he mumbles. I nod.

The two of them step out into the crowd and vanish. I'm left by the table. Cast off to the side.

“That means everyone!” The Mage calls to the stragglers.

I ignore him.

The song is starting to wind down when a familiar face steps up to me.

“Baz, dance with me.” Agatha Wellbelove has her hair done up with silver strands, and her dress shimmers.

“Don't you have a date?” I ask.

“No.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “But I'm asking as a friend.”

“We're not friends.”

“As a classmate, then.”

I sigh and take her hand. I might as well put my years of ballroom lessons to use.

Her waist is small. Her hands are small. Everything about her is small, and she feels light as I spin her around the floor. Like I'm going to break her if I'm not careful.

The second song comes to a close, and she steps back, smiling faintly, like she has a secret to tell me. She looks to her right, and I follow her gaze. Snow is whirling around with Bunce like an idiot, the two of them laughing wildly. Agatha sneaks over to them.

“Mind if I cut in?” She asks politely.

Snow stumbles, and Bunce laughs harder.

“Agatha!” Snow gasps. “I-- um--”

“Not you,” she laughs, and steals Bunce away. The next song starts, and they're already giggling to themselves.

Snow meets my eyes again. He steps closer. “Hey.”

“Hello,” I sigh.

He smiles a little. “Baz? Would you dance with me?”

My heart is pounding. “Are you crazy?”

“No,” he smiles. “Just stupid.”

“Your words, not mine.”

He laughs. I made Snow laugh.

“Baz. Dance with me.”

I clench my jaw for a moment. This might be my only chance. “Okay.”

I don't expect him to take my shoulder so easily. I fit his free hand into one of mine, and he's so warm. I take his waist. This feels right.

I lose track of time. Who cares how long it's been or how many songs have played when I'm hand in hand with Simon, and he's smiling like he really wants to be here, doing this? He smiles so radiantly. His laugh is like bells. It's all for me. Granted, he's a horrid dancer, so it's good I'm the one leading, but I don't mind. Not when, for a moment, we can forget everything.

I don't recognise the song that plays next, but it's slow, and we're sort of swaying more than dancing.

Snow is still so full of energy, even after what felt like an eternity of dancing. It's a different kind of energy from his magic, bright and hot like a fireplace. Like home. He's lighting me up, warming every inch of me. I'm almost scared I'll catch on fire, burning to wisps of ash. What a waste of a tailored suit. But I don't think I'd mind if I fell to Snow's flame.

Instead of setting me on fire, though, he leans forward, resting his head on my shoulder. That's almost worse.

“Snow,” I murmur. “What are you doing?”

“Shh. Just let me have this.”

What is that supposed to mean?

We sway for another minute, then finally he speaks up again.

“Baz?” I can feel his warm breath on my neck from the way his head is angled.

“Yes?” I ask quietly.

“I know… you said you didn't want to out yourself.”

My breath hitches. Was this a trick? Is he going to stand up straight and shout to everyone that I'm queer? I never should have told him.

“But…”

“Please don't,” I whisper. He looks surprised. Pitches don't plead, they demand. But I'm pleading. Because if he says it, I doubt I'll even be a Pitch anymore.

“That's not what I meant,” he says quickly, lifting his head. “I would never.”

I relax a little.

“I just… I've been thinking. While we were dancing. And I…” He shakes his head lightly. “I made up my mind.”

 

**Simon**

I chose my path.

 

**Baz**

“What do you mean?”

He squeezes my hand, smiling. “I still want to take you to the dance, Baz. And I want to take you as my date. Not as my friend.”

I'm dreaming. That's the only explanation. Simon is holding my hand, dancing with me to a slow ballad, and asking me to be his date. It's too close to my fantasies.

But if I'm dreaming, why does everything feel so crisp? Like I didn't know I needed glasses, and his words are exactly my prescription. It feels real.

“Yes.”

His face lights up. “Really?”

“Yes. Yes, I--” I have to let go of his waist to cover my mouth. I'm giggling uncontrollably. “Simon, are you serious?”

“Completely.”

What do I say to that? Truth be told, I don't want to say anything. I want to kiss him.

“Follow me,” I say, stepping back. He does. He follows me without question.

We slip out of the room and into the hallway, away from prying eyes. I can still hear the music, muffled by the doors. I pull him close again and rest my head on his shoulder, the way he did for me. We dance in the quiet.

“Baz?” He asks in a hushed tone.

“Simon,” I breathe.

“I like it when you call me that,” he laughs.

I stand up, meeting his eyes. He's beautiful. And he wants me.

I kiss him.

He goes stiff for a moment, then he's kissing me back. We've stopped dancing, but that's alright, because I can't concentrate enough to multitask. Not when he's so warm and soft and perfect. It's everything I've ever wanted, but better.

 

**Simon**

I'm kissing a bloke. I've never done that before. His mouth is harder and colder than I'm used to. His hands are bigger and rougher.

I can't get enough of it.

When we pull apart, I feel like I'm standing on a cloud.

I grin. “That was fantastic.”

I think I'm hooked. I'll never be able to kiss anyone else.

I've made the right choice, undeniably.

 

**Baz**

“I have to agree,” I breathe.

He laughs again, and it's contagious. I kiss him a second time,  to stop myself. It doesn't work, and we end up giggling against each other, swallowing laughter.

When I can breathe again, I reach up and brush a stray curl from his face.

“I'll be your date as long as you'll have me,” I whisper.

Somehow, he smiles even wider. He always manages to do that. “There's no one else I'd rather ask.” He shakes his head. “What's that poem?” He stares at me, like the words are written in my eyes. “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

This time, _he_ kisses _me_.


End file.
